


Sing To Me Instead

by forgive_me_not



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dark Magic, Harry Potter AU, M/M, Magical Violence, Odin's A+ Parenting, Rating May Change, Sad gays, Tags May Change, What's new, Wizarding World AU, author uses british and american english in same sentence, bearded!steve because i'm a thirsty bitch like that, because i love my brooklyn idiots, but i also love my 60+ other children, friendships all the way, not as ship oriented as i originally intended, pierce is a scumbag, slow burn but also established?, so many changes, starts out steve-centric but as the story progresses it starts focusing on others too, title may change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 13:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18143078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgive_me_not/pseuds/forgive_me_not
Summary: "So," Steve said, "someone tried to kill you."Captain of Aurors Steve Rogers is invited back to England by one of his old friends, after working abroad for over a decade. He thinks this trip is going to be awful - he doesn't realize just how much so.It's hard to outrun your past, especially if it's trying to kill you.





	Sing To Me Instead

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for taking interest in my fic! If you have a few seconds to spare before diving into the story, please read this author's note;
> 
> I had written two whole chapters and then some more – then all of it got deleted. It was my fault, I made a stupid mistake, and then I had to rewrite the whole thing. Therefore I apologize if that can be felt in the writing, it lost some of its original flow but I tried my best at recreating it.
> 
> Quick reminder that English isn't my native language, so misspellings and weird grammar are entirely possible, although I'm trying my best.
> 
> I also have to point out that this is possibly the most ambitious fic I've ever attempted writing. It's a trilogy; this is technically the second part, and the first, a 'prequel' is going to go up in not much time. Here's how it's going to be paced out:  
> \- the prequel details Steve's, Bucky's and the others' years at Hogwarts, and some  
> \- this fic is basically a rendition of ca:tws  
> \- the third act is, well. It would be a shame to tell you what that was all about yet :)
> 
> I've been planning this project since the fall of 2018, so I'm really excited to share it with you! That's all, I'm gonna let y'all read now :D

  The man appeared on the train between Grantham and Peterborough. No one saw him get up at the station; he just sort of appeared, from one minute to the next. He had no luggage, aside from a frayed scarf (which he quickly tucked into the pocket of his coat), and a strange newspaper. Well, _strange_ is a strong word - it was simply just foreign, some American paper titled ‘ _The New York Ghost._ ’ The man sat down onto a window seat and spread the paper out over his crossed legs. The other passengers paid little mind to him. What use would it be for an Englishman to read an article filled with those awfully American words like ‘No-Maj’ and ‘Quidditch’ anyway?

  (Although, to this day, one of the younger passengers that travelled in the same car as him swear that they had seen the photographs in the paper _move_.)

  Not much time had passed before the ticket inspector tapped on the shoulder of the man, murmuring his signature ”tickets, passes, please.” The American looked up at him. For a long moment, he seemed to think; then he reached inside the inner pocket of his coat. Instead of a ticket or a train pass, he took out a small, black leather card holder. He flipped it open, revealing some sort of ID card to the inspector. An ominous looking eye-symbol glimmered golden in the dim light.

  ”Came with the 11:14 from Woolworth,” he said, with a hint of New York accent to his pleasant voice. ”Here for work on request of the head of the Auror Department.”

  The ticket inspector nodded, tipped his hat and stepped to the next passenger. The American man put his little card holder back into his pocket. He was not bothered again, until he stepped out to the platform of King’s Cross station.

  The man’s name was Steve Rogers, and he hated this trip with every fiber of his being.

  He ducked his head as he navigated through the bright hall full of people. Through the smoke and pigeons and empty noise, his eyes continued scanning the bypassers’ faces, discretely looking for someone.

  Then his gaze locked with a woman’s, and his steps stuttered, before changing direction.

  The woman was standing patiently by the side of the hall, her gloved fingers intertwined in front of herself. A rich crimson dress hugged her form elegantly, and her auburn locks fell onto her shoulders artfully; she looked calm, but her dark eyes had a serious glint to them. Steve stopped right in front of her, merely inches away, and looked down at the dame.

  ”Auror Carter,” he greeted her formally.

  ”Captain Rogers,” the woman nodded back - then her stoic expression dropped, and a lovely smile spread over her rouged lips. She spread out her arms and Steve wrapped her in a tight hug, the man’s smile resembling hers. ”It’s so good to see you, Steve.”

  ”You have no idea, Peggy,” Steve let out a relieved sigh.

  Peggy pulled back after a good twenty seconds, but didn’t completely let go of the man. She rested her arms on his, as she took a good look at him.

  ”Look at you, all grown up.” There was something mother-like about how she said that, and then there was mischief in the way she quirked her eyebrows. She reached up and took Steve’s chin between her thumb and index finger. ”Are you trying to grow a beard?”

  Steve went red faster than a traffic light.

  ”Emphasis on trying...”

  Peggy bit down on her bottom lip, holding back a chuckle.

  ”Looks great.” She playfully patted the man’s face, then started walking toward the main entrance of King’s Cross Station. Steve followed suit, awkwardly rubbing at his chin. They walked out into the busy streets of London; the chill October breeze ran through the crowds of people, catching onto their coats and hats. The ever-present ceiling of clouds swirled above their heads.

  As they walked, Peggy striked up conversation;

  ”How was your portkey?”

  ”Awful.” Steve frowned and reached into his pocket to touch the old scarf. ”I still hate these things.”

  ”I assume you’d still rather use that than a Muggle plane?”

  Steve’s stomach clenched up. He didn’t answer, and he knew Peggy understood why. The woman cleared her throat, even this simple gesture suggesting she was sorry that she’d brought this up.

  She changed the subject.

  ”How’s the States?”

  ”Not worse than usual,” and Steve forced his nerves to ease out slowly. ”Got a good man filling in for me back there. Hopefully things won’t go to shit while I’m away.”

  They took a sharp turn from the busy boulevard to an abandoned alleyway. After only a few steps, the noise of the Muggle world faded into a soft murmur, like they weren’t in the heart of London still, but somewhere far away. The walls were accented with mold, and trash was everywhere they looked; black plastic bags piled up, halves of bicycles being feasted on by rust, an old refrigerator with its door hanging loosely from its hinges.

  ”So,” Steve said, ”someone tried to kill you.”

  He could feel Peggy go tense next to him. Her poker face didn’t waver, but her eyes darted around, as if she suspected the overflowing trash bins of eavesdropping.

  ”Not here,” she hissed, and stopped in front of a crooked telephone box.

  The phone booth looked just as old and useless as everything else in the alley. The door creaked painfully as Peggy opened it. They both stepped into the small space.

  Peggy took the phone receiver in one hand, then hooked her fingers into the old dial, and twisted it. Six, two, four - the rotary dial flipped back into place after the fifth digit, and the air in the cramped space crackled.

  ”Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,” the voice of a lady called, not from the receiver, but from all around them. ”Please, state your full name and purpose of visit.”

  ”Margaret Elizabeth Carter, Head Auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Peggy recited, voice much stricter than the tone she used while bantering with Steve. ”And Steven Grant Rogers, Captain of the MACUSA’s Auror Division, here to aid with work on my own request.”

  ”Thank you,” said the voice, and promptly, a badge rolled into the coin slot with a soft ‘clink’. ”Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes. You are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.”

  ”Don’t bother,” Peggy waved her hand in dismissal, but Steve reached out and pinned the badge to the front of his coat. The words ‘ _Steven Rogers, Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ ’ were displayed on it in curvy handwriting.

  ”It’s fine,” he said, and smiled, wide and dumb at Peggy. ”It’s the protocol for foreigners, ain’t it.”

  ”It’s a stupid protocol,” Peggy stressed. ”I’m going to get you a Floo powder pass today. We’re also skipping the registration desk, it’s an absolute pain in the arse.”

  ”The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,” the female voice chimed in, and the telephone box shook.  
As their cabin began its slow descend into the belly of the Earth, yet another slightly awkward silence fell over them. Steve sunk his hands back into his pockets.

  ”You know, Muggles play music in their elevators.”

  ”Well, you’re going to have to talk to Magical Maintenance about that,” Peggy grimaced. ”It took me three whole years to convince them that electrical lighting would be more efficient than putting candles everywhere in this damn labyrinth of a place, but I’m sure they’ll do a favour for you.”

  They were coated in darkness for a good two minutes, as the booth descended below ground level - then a streak of golden light broke into the phone box, filling it up like warm water. Soon, Steve could see the grand hall of the Ministry of Magic through the smudged glass.

  The walls reached high and joined in a cupola. The floor was shining, black stone. The golden light of the chandeliers ran along the marble like ripples on a dark ocean. Fireplaces lined the wall on both sides, and lifts and reception windows. In the middle of the hall, stood a fountain - five golden statues, glimmering in the light. A witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house elf were all looking up with awe and adoration at a wizard. The man stood a good foot taller than the others, pointing his metal wand up at the sky in glory, and the others bowed themselves at his power, for water arose from the tip of the wand.

  ”God, I hate that monstrosity,” Steve murmured. Peggy sighed.

  ”It is a bloody eyestrain. But at least the coins go to St. Mungo’s now.”

  _That’s Dutch comfort,_ Steve thought to himself, but didn’t spare more words to the matter.

  The halls were strangely empty - not a single bypasser to be found. Steve remembered this place to be livelier - when he gave voice to this thought, Peggy just shook her head.

  ”It’s Sunday lunchtime, Steve. Those poor chaps who have to be in right now are hiding in the bathroom, trying not to get tears in their tuna salads.”

  Steve huffed out a half-hearted laugh. She smiled, too - until she noticed a figure approaching them from the other end of the Atrium.

  ”Oh, God,” she groaned out loud. Steve followed her gaze, and almost groaned himself.

  Directly across them, hurrying toward the duo with wide steps and a swooshing, grey robes was the Minister of Magic himself.

  ”I can’t deal with him right now,” Peggy hissed from behind her gritted teeth as she flashed a bright and entirely fake smile toward the approaching Minister. Then, she added louder; ”Meet you at my office in a bit!”

  And, before Steve could protest, she jumped into an elevator on the left.

  So Steve was left there, with the Minister of Magic approaching him, arms extended.

  ”Steven!”

  Steve had to force the smile onto his face, as he shook the man’s hand firmly.

  ”Minister.”

  ”Oh, please, call me Alexander.”

  Steve just laughed uncomfortably as he thought about how hell would freeze over sooner than he would call Alexander Pierce by his given name.

  Pierce looked to their left, to the now closed lift door.

  ”Where’d Margaret go?”

  ”Ah, she needed to get some papers in order, and figured she’d get through them while we were talking,” Steve lied. Pierce waved his hand dismissively, and grabbed Steve’s arm, forcefully inviting him for a stroll through the Atrium.

  ”It’s whatever. Say, how you been?”

  ”Been worse,” Steve bit out. Then, after an awkward pause; ”How’s... England?”

  ”Oh, you know. Wet. Full of magic. And cold as all hell,” the Minister shivered, then chuckled. ”Had all sorts of problems with Muggles recently, but it’s nothing a few Obliviators couldn’t fix.”

  They were passing the fountain now. Steve kept his eyes trained exactly in front of himself.

  ”I’m glad you’re here, son,” Pierce confessed after somewhat of a pause, his voice losing from its chipper tone. ”Especially after what happened to poor Margaret...”

  At that, the polite expression dropped from Steve’s face, and concern took over.

  ”We really do need all the help we can get around the Auror Department.” Pierce shook his head. ”It’s horrible, absolutely horrible.”

  ”I’m here to help in any way I can,” Steve said.

  ”And I’m sure Margaret appreciates that greatly. She was more affected by this than she'd like to admit. I think your support means a lot to her.” Then, as if this wasn’t already the most uncomfortable conversation Steve has had in a long time, he added; ”Besides. I’m sure she’s happy to have her Hogwarts sweetheart here with her.”

  Steve had to fight really hard to keep the grimace off his face.

  ”I think you might have the wrong idea, sir.”

  Pierce laughed, loud and ugly.

  ”I’m just joking,” he said, and patted Steve on the shoulder. ”Now, you gotta excuse me - there’s an owl waiting for me in my office. She’s quite impatient, and I just had my desk polished.”

  And with that, he was off; stepping in one of the lifts and commanding its doors to shut behind him with a mere flick of his wrist. Steve found himself alone in the circular hall of elevators, with the silence settling in with an alarming weight. The Ministry’s great building groaned and chimed as magic and mechanics worked together inside its walls.

  He swears this place used to be a lot livelier.

  The elevator ride was yet another boring and musicless five minutes, but this time, in terrible loneliness. The cabin gently hummed under Steve’s feet. He rested his back against the mirror wall, and stared up at the ceiling. One lonely paper airplane wrote tired circles around the lamp, like a depressed moth.

  Steve sucked in a deep breath, and tried really hard not to think about the last time he was here.

  The corridors were just as empty as the Atrium. Although the thick carpet muffled his footsteps, it was still the only noise to be heard as he made his way to a thick, grand mahogany door toward the end of the hallway. ' _Margaret Carter, Head of the Auror Department_ ', was displayed on it, on a golden planchet. Peggy’s ”come in” came after only one knock.

  Steve stepped into the office, and found Peggy sitting behind an old, wooden desk, reading over a short and official looking parchment. She glanced up sparingly.

  ”Ah, good to see Pierce didn’t curse you into a cow.”

  Steve closed the door behind himself. The office was so awfully like its owner - everything was in order, and yet, there were so many things that everything looked just a tad cramped. The wasn’t an inch free on the bookshelf, the heavy volumes pressed up against each other tightly. Chests of different sizes were stacked up against a wall. On a beat up sofa laid neatly folded blankets, and at its foot an old oil lamp; the telltale signs of nights spent with working. The desk Peggy was sitting at was almost entirely covered in neat piles of documents; maps, entries of past cases, letters, some of them only half-finished.

  Steve stepped to one of the chairs on his side of the desk, and sat down.

  ”Has he done that before?”

  ”You didn’t hear it from me.” Peggy leaned back in her chair, and the parchment rolled itself up.

  Steve stared at her.

  ”May we talk about it now?”

  Peggy looked at him, the corners of her mouth turning just slightly downward.

  ”Peggy, I trust you with my life,” Steve continued. ”But you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, and seeing you like this - you’re clearly unable to handle this on your own, and it honest to God scares me. You invited me here from the other end of the world, so please. Let me help.”

  Peggy squeezed her lips into a thin line. She stood up, and without saying a word, pointed her wand in Steve’s direction.

  Steve heard the door’s lock click behind his back. A silence fell on the room like a wet curtain, heavy and lukewarm. Peggy then looked Steve in the eyes.

  ”You’re the only person I can trust with this.”

  ”Talk to me.”

  She lowered herself back into her chair slowly.

  ”It happened,” she started, taking a deep breath, ”little over two weeks ago, when I was uptown, taking the testimony of a Squib gentleman. It was getting late; when I went out to the street, it was dark. I started walking towards a lesser-lit place, to Apparate. That’s when he appeared.”

  There was deadly silence. Steve waited for her to continue, patiently.

  ”He was strong. Fast.” She involuntarily lowered the volume of her voice as she went on. ”And the magic he used, Steve, it was terrifying. It was... dark and cold...”

  She fidgeted with her wand as she searched for the right words.

  ”...Like a Dementor, just... human.” She was staring off to the distance, presumably at a wall. "He attacked me. Went straight for lethal curses. Blew a hole in the side of some innocent Muggle's house. I could... barely escape."

  Steve shifted a little on his chair.

  ”Could you get a look at him?”

  Peggy was already shaking her head before Steve finished his sentence.

  ”Even if it wasn’t pitch dark, and he wasn’t that bloody fast - he had most of his face covered with a mask.” She took a deep, troubled breath. ”He was around six feet - tight clothes - long hair... and... he had a metal arm.”

  Steve blinked.

  ”Well, that should narrow it down, right?”

  ”You’d think it would,” Peggy sighed. ”All magical prosthetics like that are documented - I went through all of Saint Mungo’s records, but there was nothing that was even remotely similar to him. No records of a man with smooth silver plates for a left arm. Not here; not anywhere else.”

  She made a flicking motion with her wand, and the neat piles of scrolls gently floated off her desk, clearing the smooth, wooden surface.

  ”I looked everywhere; the archives of the Auror Department, the Muggle customs records, the wanted dark wizards of thirty-nine different countries. No trace of him anywhere. This man, for all we know, doesn’t even exist.”

  ”...But you did find something.”

  Peggy sighed. She pulled out the top drawer of her desk, and reached deep into it; way deeper than the physical limitations of it would have allowed. When she drew back, she was holding a scroll. It looked heavy and overused. Holding it together was a detailed and complicated seal - once strong, for sure, but now broken with powerful magic.

  Slowly and almost ceremoniously, Peggy pointed her wand at the sealed scroll. The parchment rolled out.

  ”Over the past ten years, there have been reports of a man. Silent. Deadly. With a metal arm.”

  The parchment rolled, until it covered the whole desk; then it folded out, revealing layers and layers of paper sealed inside of it. Black and red ink flowed on the thin leather in scratchy writing, sometimes in a language Steve couldn’t even read. Drawn images of a ghostly figure appeared before his eyes; phantom-images of a man, with shadows for eyes, and metal for hand.

  Steve stared at the columns of blocked out text in front of him.

  ”These documents were sealed away, in the Department of Mysteries.” Peggy pressed the tip of her wand to a particularly messy paragraph. ”You do not want to know what I had to go through to get them.” The wand glided along the lines of writing. ”These are all eyewitness testimonies. They’re from over a dozen different cases, all from the past ten years, related to the deaths of various figures of authority - magical and non-magical alike. Some of them I've worked on myself, yet I've never even _seen_ these statements. This guy is connected to all of them. He's a ghost story, an urban legend. ”

  She stopped at a word, written in oily black ink.

  ”The Winter Soldier.”

  The sketch of the man turned to pin his sharp eyes at Steve.

  ”An assassin who we’ve never even heard of.”

  Steve’s eyes darted along the lines. He was soaking in information, expression growing more and more stoic as he read.

  ”Who sent him.”

  It was a question, but it sounded like a demand. Peggy’s eyes momentarily flickered over to him, her expression clearly showing she expected this question.

  ”Although I cannot say for sure - I could still be proven wrong, and god, I hope I am - I... have some ideas. But this,” she pressed her finger to the parchment, ”this means they have insides in the ministry. And that means we have to be incredibly careful.”

  ”Who _are they_ , Peggy.”

  Peggy tapped her wand to the document, and it folded itself together neatly. It rolled up into her hand and she rested her fingers upon it.

  ”I have reason to believe Hydra might still be active.”

  For thirty long seconds, Steve didn’t seem to react at all. He slowly closed his eyes, and breathed in even slower - he still appeared calm, but the muscles in his body visibly tensed, and when he opened his eyes again, to look at Peggy, there was something in his gaze that made the woman’s stomach clench up uneasily.

  ”Are you absolutely sure.”

  ”Steve...”

  ”Just because I spent,” and Steve didn’t raise his voice, but it still made Peggy snap her lips shut, ”the last thirteen years of my life going after each and every person even loosely associated with Hydra, personally making sure they were held accountable for whatever crimes they committed. Peggy, I spent an entire decade of my life playing bloodhound. Ever since the Sokovia raids, there has been not a trace of Hydra, and believe me, I wanted there to be. But there just wasn’t. For such a long time, I couldn’t let go of this nightmare - but now I’m finally, _finally_ moving on. So please.”

  And he sounded so tired - so tired, as he all but begged Peggy;

  ”Tell me you’re joking.”

  Peggy looked at him, and her heart broke in half.

  ”Steve, I know...” She shook her head, taking a deep breath. ”I know I’m asking too much. I wish it wasn’t true, I really do - but if it is, then you’re the only one I can count on right now, and you know that.”

  And oh, he should have seen where this was headed. He should have known, from the moment he opened that letter back at home, with the British stamp and familiar handwriting - and maybe he did. Maybe he did know, deep down, that this would be what greets him here.

  Steve clenched his jaw and sucked on the bitter taste in his mouth.

  ”I told you, didn’t I.” And that dark glow was back in those blue eyes, as he looked up at the witch. ”I’m not gonna stop until all of Hydra’s dead or captured.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember, kudos are great, comments are better :)
> 
> I'm hoping to get the next chapter AND the prequel-oneshot both out before Endgame comes out, but school and life are bitches that like playing tricks, so I can't promise anything.
> 
> I don't really use tumblr anymore, but feel free to [hmu](forgiveme-not.tumblr.com) there anyway, and we might have a pleasant chat over these stupid old men, or writing, or anything in general.


End file.
